


Vexed

by mongoose_bite



Series: Dyce the Incredibly Easy Breton [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: BDSM, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Femdom, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Punishment, Rope Bondage, Sex, Sexual Content, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always does everything she asks him to, and one night she decides to find out just how obedient he can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vexed

**Author's Note:**

> Dyce is an incredibly easygoing Breton Dragonborn, and he has many adventures and meets many interesting people as he travels across Skyrim. He has previously been featured on the Skyrim kink meme, and I am forever grateful to all the anonymous prompters and commenters who are in part responsible for these stories.

No matter how high up in the Guild he rose, Dyce still kept coming back to play errand boy for Vex. The Breton clearly didn't need the cash; the running joke in the Cistern was that he never cleaned his armour and that he just bought a new set every time it got dirty. But there he was, back again, dropping another trinket into Vex's waiting palm.

  
The truth of the matter was, no one talked to him like Vex did. Such cold, unimpressed tones, or vaguely mocking. And yet, he sensed he impressed her, in some vague undefinable way, with his skill and diligence.

  
“Sometimes I wonder,” Vex said, admiring yet another model boat he'd tiptoed out of someone's house with, “if there's any job you wouldn't take.”

  
“You'd be surprised,” he said, his usual cheeky grin plastered across his face. There was another running joke in the Cistern too, about his clueless infatuation with the ice-queen. Didn't he know she liked men big and rough? Like that meat-head who guarded Mercer's house.

  
“But I wouldn't turn down one from you,” he added.

  
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a challenge.” She crooked one long finger and he bent his head obediently so she could breath in his ear.. “Don't touch yourself, for one day.”

  
He straightened up his heart beating double time as he tried to work out if she was joking or not, “What? You think I can't do that?” What a ridiculously easy challenge. Except it wasn't. Except that the mere thought was making his cock twitch and swell slightly in his leather pants.

  
He was in the Flagon, for Talos's sake; he had never before felt any particular desire to play with himself here. And yet, lot of dark corners. Once the idea was fixed it clung to his mind like a limpet.

  
He lifted his chin. “You're on.” And then he really had to leave. He needed to calm down. Not somewhere private. More public the better. Distracting. Maybe he should steal something.

  
The rest of the day was spent in the sort of torment he hadn't experienced since he was fifteen. Any private space, any time alone, was a temptation, and the more he tried not to think about Vex's voice in his ear, or the curve of her lips, the more he did.

  
It's not like she'd know.

  
Only, he suspected that somehow she'd find out. He crossed his legs, ordered more mead, and waited for the sun to go down.

  
When he returned to the Flagon, the place was eerily quiet. He was wondering if it was entirely empty when movement caught his eye and Vex stepped out of the shadows, as pale and beautiful as ever. She smirked at him and his rather dishevelled and wild-eyed expression.

  
“Oh Gods,” he groaned. “What have you _done_ to me? I don't normally spend my day thinking about that sort of thing, but I couldn't stop.”

  
She didn't laugh, although she looked a bit amused. A bit thoughtful too.

  
“You actually did it. I'm impressed.”

  
He took a deep breath, “Job completed then?”

  
“Yes. Off you go.” She waited a beat, “Unless, you want another one.”

  
He'd been on his way out to find a room and tug himself stupid, but at the sound of her voice his feet would carry him no further.

  
“Like what?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than usual.

  
“I'm not sure.” She uncrossed her arms and walked over to him, ran a finger down his jawline. “How badly do you want to please me?”

  
He licked his lips, “More badly than I want to please myself.” Truth. She liked that, he could tell. He reached out a hand for her, and she caught it and shook her head.

  
“No, not like that.” Her other hand was still on his cheek. “You do everything I say, no more. If I tell you to howl, you'll howl. If I tell you be silent, you'll be silent.” Her gaze flicked down a moment and back up again. “If I tell you to come, you'll come.”

  
He swallowed.

  
“But not quite yet.”

  
She walked away from him, eyeing off the Flagon speculatively. He eyed off her arse. He felt...good. Ridiculously aroused, but also free; he just had to do as she said. He jumped when she kicked a chair.

  
“Too flimsy.” She glanced at him, “Don't just stand there. Go find some rope, there has to be some around somewhere.”

  
His jaw dropped, and some apprehension must have shown in his face, for she crossed to him quickly and placed her lips over his, firm, quick, but warm. She gazed into his eyes, “Say 'Brynjolf' and I'll stop,” she promised. “No matter what.”

  
He nodded and limped off to find some rope, his cock pressed painfully against the inside of his trousers.

  
When he returned, Vex had removed all the game birds and rabbits from one of the round, metal things Nords hung such things from. She put her whole weight on it and swung for a moment.

  
“That'll be good,” she said. She smiled at him, “How would you like to be a piece of meat?”

  
“Just as long as I don't get carved up and roasted,” he said. She held up her hand and he tossed her the rope.

  
“I love objectifying men,” she said coiling the rope in her hands, idly. “And you, you're made for it. All legs and arse. Hips made for fucking. Everything made for fucking. Such a waste, hiding in some dark corner, with only your own breathing and your hand for company; you should be grateful I put a stop to it. And best of all,” she swayed over to him, “you'd do anything for coin, wouldn't you, Dyce? You'd strip for me, you'd lick my boots, you'd fuck my hand, my mouth, my breasts, my cunt for me wouldn't you. You'd fuck yourself, wouldn't you? Shamelessly. On the bar. In the marketplace.”

  
“Yes.”

  
“You sell yourself to me every day of the week. Those fingers, those eyes.” She touched his face with her fingertips. “Your sword arm,” she trailed her hand over his shoulder. “But tonight, I own _all_ of you.” She slid her hand down his chest and stomach and squeezed him through his pants.

  
He didn't know what to say. His mouth was dry. The head of his cock was wet.

  
She walked away again, sat down, and poured herself a drink. “Take off your gloves,” she said. He put each finger between his teeth, one by one, to tug them loose. His eyes on her face. He tossed his gloves on the table.

  
“Belt.”

  
“The other belt.”

  
“Boots.”

  
By the time she finally let him tug his trousers down, his skin was gleaming with sweat. When he'd taken his armour and undershirt off she'd made him flex for her, do push-ups and show off every scar.

  
Now he stood naked and proud before her, watching her watching him. She didn't seem disappointed by what she found. Her teeth scraped on her lower lip.

  
She tossed him the rope.

  
“Let's see how well you follow instructions.”

  
As it turned out, not that well. His mind was hazy with lust, and he found himself all fingers and thumbs, despite being such a talented thief. He tossed the rope over the meat hanger, and did his best to follow her instructions as to what to do with it.

  
“You'll never make a sailor,” she said.

  
Eventually he got it right, and right turned out to be on his knees with his arms above his head. She hadn't made him bind his wrists; his own weight would keep them in the ropes. She walked around him, examining him from all sides. The floor was hard and cold under his knees and although his arms weren't pulled up painfully, it wasn't comfortable either. He was vulnerable, exposed. He let his head loll back and he looked at the loops of rope around his wrists.

  
“Legs a bit wider, there we go. Ever been fucked in the arse?” She laughed as he tried to shrug despite the restraints, but he didn't exactly answer. She put her hand on the top of his head. “Delicious. Maybe something to look forward to.” She touched him then, with cool appraising fingers, down his back, tracing his ribs, palming his pectorals, rubbing his skin like someone selecting cloth. “Close your eyes, and keep them closed.”

  
He closed his eyes. He heard the chair scrape as she dragged it across the floor. Heard her move; leather on leather, leather on metal – a buckle maybe? His eyelids twitched as he imagined what was on the other side of them, but he kept them closed.

  
Warmth, a light touch on his ribs. The chair scraped again. Suddenly he could smell her; leather and sweat and woman and wine. She cupped his chin with her hand tilting his head back. He imagined her gaze across his face. He could still feel light pressure on his ribs. Her legs, he realised. His expression, when he worked out where she was, must have been something because she chuckled.

  
“Go on then, have a taste.”

  
The ropes creaked as he pushed himself forward, his cheek scraped her thigh, her fingers brushed his nose. Thoughtfully, since he didn't have use of his hands, she'd spread herself for him, and she sighed as he flicked his tongue out, trying to find the source of the heat he could feel on his face.

  
She wasn't shy about what she wanted. She wanted it to the left, faster, lighter, stop for a moment, suck...right there.” Her legs were soon gripping his sides, and her voice was thick and distracted. He could feel her move her hips.

  
His arms were starting to ache, and his knees were protesting. His cock ached to be touched; to fuck anything, even the floor, but all he felt was his own precome drying. But he did not disobey. Not then.

  
“Like that, don't stop,” she finally growled, her free hand fisted in his hair. He thought she was close, the chair she was sitting in was creaking, threatening to break as she bucked her hips against his face.

  
He opened his eyes.

  
Her head was flung back, and an expanse of pale skin stretched before him, glistening with sweat. Her legs gripped him tight enough to squeeze the air from him, and she shouted, pulling on his scruffy hair until the edge of pain. He groaned too, her pleasure his.  
And then he remembered to shut his eyes.

  
Breathlessly, she told him to stop, and he did, sinking back and hanging slack from the ropes, his fingers twisted in the hemp, half holding himself up. His face was damp, and suddenly chilled as he was bereft of her.

  
Moments passed. He heard her breathing even out, and she stood up, moving the chair away.

  
WHAP! Something soft and yet stinging slapped him across the face. Not her hand. He smelled leather; one of his gloves.

  
“You.” She grabbed his hair again and pulled his head back. “Opened your eyes. I told you not to.”

  
“Uh,” was all he could manage.

  
“You are going to be punished.”

  
His cock, which had been softening from lack of attention, stiffened again as she slapped him across the face again; WHAP!

  
“Go on then, you can watch.”

  
He opened his eyes. She wasn't naked. Not quite. She was still wearing her jacket, open at the front, but her legs, her feet, her arse, and her sex were bare. Pale and toned, he could see moisture glistening on her thighs. He didn't get much time to stare, however, as she strode around behind him. It was his glove she was holding in her hands, and from the corner of his eye he saw her raise her arm and bring the leather down across his back. WHAP!

  
And again, and again. It stung only slightly, but each time she did it, his whole body shuddered, as if she'd been using a cat 'o nine tails.

  
“Noise,” she growled, and hit him again.

  
He gasped. And then he groaned, and she slapped his back, again and again. He forgot himself, it was like was flying, lost, waiting for the next blow, and he cried out for her until he was hoarse. She slapped his ribs, his arse, his shoulders, for what seemed like forever. He burned.

  
And then she stepped around him, knelt as swiftly as a saber cat, and slapped his cock. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced; pain and pleasure in equal amounts, and he wanted her to do it again.

  
He bucked, and was almost coming and then he wasn't and his arms and stomach flexed and it was a wonder he didn't pull the ceiling of the Flagon down on both of them. He was incoherent, begging. One more and he'd be lost.

  
She stepped back, lips slightly parted, watching him with dark eyes, “You want to come, don't you?”

  
“Yes,” he practically sobbed. “Please.”

  
“I'm going to give you a choice,” she said, tossing the glove aside. “You can come, right there on the floor while I watch, or you get to make me come. If you choose the latter, you don't come until I say, clear?”

  
He nodded. With one swift motion she drew the blade strapped to the side of her jerkin, stepped forward, and slashed the ropes. He collapsed forward onto the floor, barely catching himself with aching arms. Vex watched as he disentangled himself, and staggered to his feet, his knees protesting, his legs threatening to cramp up.

  
“I choose you,” he panted.

  
She smirked. “Good boy.” She shrugged off her armour and strolled over to the bar, hopping up onto it, carelessly pushing some empty bottles aside to make room. “Come on.”

  
He flung himself at her, barking his shins as he scrambled up onto the bar, between her legs. She skimmed her hands over his arms and wiggled beneath him, getting comfortable. He buried his face briefly in the crook of her neck, and realised this was going to be the most difficult job yet.

  
When he sheathed himself in her, she was ready, wet, her hips angling up to meet his, and he bit down hard on his own lip, forcing himself to be still, choking back his own release. She waited for him, humming and smiling.

  
He drew his hips back cautiously, and then rolled them forward again. And again. He kept his arms braced either side of her head, and he was sure his fingers were pressing hard enough to dig splinters out of the polished hardwood. He gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and fucked her harder, forcing control, gasping for air. She wrapped her legs around his hips, told him to go faster, deeper.

  
He found himself chanting over and under his ragged, desperate breathing, “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.” Please come, please let me come, please don't ever let this stop. Something like that, something he was so desperate for it hurt.

  
She dug her nails into his reddened back, and her teeth into his shoulder. He could feel her quake and writhe and flex.

  
And then she was shouting in his ear, “Yes! Come on, now!”

  
And he did then, he did come. An unwinding that felt like it was unknitting his very bones, her name poured from his mouth, his hips grinding her into the bar, his cock releasing what felt like torrents into her. She raked her fingernails down his back and he arched, and shuddered, and collapsed.

  
Reality returned in bits and pieces. He rolled off her and promptly fell off the bar; he'd forgotten where he was. He landed with a yelp of surprise and he heard her chuckle from somewhere above him.

  
They dressed silently, clumsy and unhurried.

  
She walked over to him and kissed his cheek softly. “Well aren't you a keeper? Now, are you going to Windhelm anytime soon? There's a house positively bursting with unprotected valuables. Are you interested?”

  
“Always.”


End file.
